


13 Dwarfs And A Hobbit Walk Into A Bar

by alkjira



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>13 Dwarfs and a Hobbit walk into a bar. You’d thought one of them would have seen it.<br/>Or… Five times Bilbo got drunk on the quest. And one time he got drunk after the quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	13 Dwarfs And A Hobbit Walk Into A Bar

**Author's Note:**

> I’m blaming the summary on Richard Armitage. And obviously the title as well. Hell, I’m (probably unfairly) blaming the entire plot bunny on him. 
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eLIK-DREmJA
> 
> (And Martin Freeman’s gorgeous face. Shhh.)
> 
> Yes, this is the day where I blame my writing on everyone else.
> 
> If you hadn't seen those clips before, you're welcome. Be sure to catch the other part of it as well.

Technically only one Dwarf walks into a bar and that is Bombur. Eleven Dwarfs then walk into him, and Thorin carefully avoids the pile of his Company to grab the door handle, _pushes_ instead of pulls and successfully gains entry. With a sigh the King steps into the inn and Bilbo follows behind.

"Shouldn't we help them?" the Hobbit asks, glancing back towards the heap of groaning Dwarfs.

Thorin just gives him his unimpressed look #4 ( _slightly furrowed eyebrows, mouth thin, but not quite a line_ ) and goes further into the room. With a sigh of his own Bilbo follows, questioning how it is that he already knows enough about Thorin’s unimpressed looks that he needs to categorize them. It’s only been a few days since they left Hobbiton, but apparently that’s quite long enough for this type of thing.  
  
By some sort of strange magic Thorin manages to find an empty corner table, large enough to seat 14 even though the place is crowded and it’s not long before the rest of the company joins them.  
  
They’re still in the Shire, but soon enough they’ll be in Bree and when they leave Bree behind they’ll have gone further than Bilbo has ever travelled before. It’s not an altogether unpleasant thought, which in and of itself is rather disturbing.  
  
His father would not have approved of him literally running off with a group of Dwarfs and a Wizard, but his mother would probably have been right here with him, chattering away with Dori about the proper blend of lemon and bergamot to use in a breakfast tea. Or maybe she would have used her good sense and gone with Gandalf when the Wizard opted to skip the drinks the Dwarfs seemed so keen on. Bilbo might have done the same if it wasn’t for the young princes’ insistence that he’d join them. But his mother never had any issues dealing with unruly young boys, even if he provided her with ample opportunity to practice.  
  
It’s a good memory, but one slightly tinged with loss, and when Bofur sees this he nudges Bilbo gently to distract him from whatever caused the sad look.  
  
“I think I owe you a drink, Master Baggins,” he says cheerfully. “I can’t promise it’ll be as good as _your_ ale, but judging by the crowd here it can’t be that bad.”  
  
“You don’t have to do that, Master-“ Bilbo fumbles for his name for a second before it comes to him. “Bofur! Oh, I’m terribly sorry.”  
  
“No harm done,” Bofur smiles. “There are quite a lot of us, and only one of you. So it’s little wonder you’d have more to choose from. Tell you what, let me buy you that pint and everything is forgotten. Except names of course,” he adds with a rather charming wink.  
  
“If you insist,” Bilbo says with a smile, and that’s the start of it. After he finishes the ale Bofur brought him, Glóin decides that he also owes their burglar a drink, and he is followed by Fíli and Kíli who won’t take no for an answer, and when Bilbo’s glass is finally empty he has quite forgotten how many drinks there have been.  
  
“That’s enough,” he hears Thorin say, disapproval heavy in his voice, and Bilbo would be cheered that other people can also earn Thorin’s displeasure, but as it is, he has trouble even keeping his eyes open. Yawning he slumps sideways, coming to rest against something soft but sturdy and with a pleased sigh he falls asleep almost instantly.  
  
Thorin looks down at the Hobbit snoozing on his shoulder with a mix between disbelief and suspicion.  
  
“If he throws up, it’ll be on your heads,” he warns those who has bought the Hobbit ale after ale.  
  
“Not literally I hope,” Bofur jokes from Bilbo’s other side and winks at Thorin. “But feel free to tip him my way if you want. I’m thinking my coat is easier to clean than your furs.”  
  
For some reason Thorin can’t quite explain to himself he doesn’t take Bofur up on his offer.  
  
And no one says a word when the edge of Thorin’s coat ends up migrating around Bilbo’s shoulder. Dwalin tries to, but when Balin casually elbows him in the spleen he thinks better of it.  
  
When Bilbo wakes up the next morning it is with a headache, and a vague memory of someone carrying him to bed. He is rather curious as to who that might have been, but it seems embarrassing to ask considering that it was his own poor judgment who put him in such a position.  
  
The Dwarfs know better than to tell.  
  
-  
  
They have arrived in Bree and Bilbo’s nerves are a little unsettled at the thought of actually being there. The next morning they will leave, and not only will they leave behind the part of the world that Bilbo has considered his, they will also leave behind much everything else and there will be no more nights spent in quaint little inns and no meals that have not been cooked over a camp fire.  
  
Thankfully Bilbo had managed to obtain three handkerchiefs, so in a way he feels more prepared than ever to face the wilderness. It’s silly, he knows it is, but the normality the handkerchiefs bring still soothes him. At least somewhat.  
  
Because his nerves are feeling a bit frazzled Bilbo ends up having one to many glasses of wine at the little tavern that’s just next to where they are staying. He won’t have any trouble getting back, but his mood takes a turn for the maudlin and when someone joins him at the bar (which pleasingly enough has been fitted with something similar to a ladder for easy climbing onto the bar stools) Bilbo turns their way, eager for a distraction.  
  
It’s something of a surprise to see a now-familiar head of white and black hair, as well as the awkwardly lodged Orc axe that Bilbo will admit greatly unnerved him when he first made Bifur’s acquaintance. Things didn’t really approve upon his realization that Bifur couldn’t speak Westron, and did in fact mostly speak with grunting and hand gestures.

Since then he’s come to understand that Bifur isn’t as wild as his appearance would indicate. His first clues was when the grim looking Dwarf would insist on making sure that Bofur and Bombur (cousins, or so Bofur tells him) ate well, and that they got their ponies properly saddled in the morning, even occasionally tucking them in at night when they make camp outdoors.

Once, when Bilbo had been more than half-asleep, he’d felt someone adjust his blankets, and then a large hand had brushed over his curls. He’s not sure, but he thought he’d seen a glimpse of black and white hair.

And Bifur’s kindness becomes even more apparent whenever children crosses their path. Bifur has always had toy or treat for the little Hobbits brave enough to stay and wave at the strangers.

It’s terribly sad really, that Bifur can’t talk, Bilbo thinks as he greets the Dwarf. Sad and unfair, because he thinks that Bifur probably has lots of interesting things to say. And he can’t even talk properly with his fellow _Dwarfs_ , only when using that sign language they all seem to know. But while that’s at least something, it’s not at all the same thing as being able to talk, no not at all.  
  
“Get you an ale?” the barkeep asks Bifur who nods and pushes a coin across the disk.  
  
What if Bifur doesn’t really want an ale? What if he wanted something else but is resigned not to get it because trying to explain what he wants is too much hassle? That’s not fair.  
  
Bilbo only realizes that he’s crying when a big thumb comes to brush away a stray tear from a hairless cheek. Bifur tilts his face up with two fingers and Bilbo tries to smile.  
   
“’m sorry.” He gestures towards his empty glass. “Sometimes wine makes me overemotional.”  
  
Bifur shakes his head admonishing and wags his finger towards the glass as if scolding it.  
  
Bilbo’s smile turns a little more genuine. “Indeed, I think I’m done. But, would you mind terribly if I kept you company?”  
  
Bifur grins brightly, and suddenly Bilbo can’t even understand what about the Dwarf once made him nervous.  
  
-  
  
The Elvish wine they are served in Rivendell do not taste at all of spirits and it is only when Bilbo tries to stand up that he notices that the world seems to be tilting slightly.  
  
“You all right there, Master Baggins?” Balin asks kindly.  
  
“Yes, quite,” Bilbo says and flushes slightly when he has to burp. “But I think I’m going to seek my bed now.”  
  
Finding his room is actually something of a challenge, not because he’s lost… no.... It’s just that so many of the rooms look the same. Eventually he finds it, and if the path there is perhaps a bit more uneven than it should have been… well, no one is around to see it. And if he once came fairly close to tumbling off a balcony... well, in the end he didn't.  
  
An hour or so later when Thorin arrives at the room he'd been given the Dwarf does a double-take when he finds that his bed is already occupied. All he can see is a curly head sticking up from beneath the covers, but there’s little doubt about who it belongs to.  
  
For a brief moment Thorin wonders if this is deliberate, if Bilbo meant to end up in his bed and what that would mean, but then he remembers what Balin had said when he’d retired about having to watch out for any inebriated Hobbits wandering about the hallways, and Thorin closes the door and goes to find another place to rest his head for the night.  
  
The next morning its Dwalin’s turn to do a double-take when he sees Bilbo coming out of Thorin’s room, and again Balin's elbow and Dwalin's spleen meet.  
  
-

After Beorn realises that they did indeed do all the things in Gandalf’s tale he unthaws considerably. Bilbo wouldn’t yet call him a friend, but the big Man is certainly trying hard to be friendly. Unfortunately he goes about it in much the same way the Dwarfs had at the start of their journey, and this time the cups are a lot bigger.  
  
Eventually Thorin points out that everyone would prefer it if their burglar did not in fact end up pickled, but Beorn just laughs and points out that surely Bilbo knows his own limits.  
  
“He is small, aye, but not a child.”  
  
Bilbo certainly isn’t, and he appreciates that Beorn has noticed.  
  
Drink has brought a ruddy flush to the Hobbit’s face, and it’s also at least partially to blame for the way he’s scooted closer and closer to where Fíli and Kíli are sitting. He likes the two young Dwarfs, and they seem to like him, so why not combine that with this urge he’s gotten to hug someone? He could perhaps ask Thorin, because apparently hugging is a thing they do now; and the hug on top of the Carrock was certainly nice, but if Bilbo is wrong then it’ll mean that the disapproving looks will make a return, and he’d rather not have that, please and thank you.  
  
Also, he’s rather hoping that being good at hugging will turn out to be a family trait, because having many people to hug is always nice.  
  
Beorn’s words makes the Hobbit regard him thoughtfully, and after some further consideration he hops down from the oversized bench and goes around the table to where Beorn is sitting. Beorn’s face and upper body seems to be very far away, and that is unfortunate.  
  
“Could you please come down,” Bilbo requests politely, slurring only the slightest bit.  
  
With an amused smile on his face Beorn slides out of his chair and kneels on the floor next to Bilbo.  
  
“What can I do for you, little bunny?”  
  
The Hobbit wrinkles his nose, not realising that it just highlights the similarities between him and the animal in question.  
  
“I’m going to pretend you did not say that,” he tells Beorn and then proceeds to throw his arms around the thick, sturdy neck in front of him. With his face mostly buried in Beorn’s beard Bilbo entirely misses how Thorin’s face suddenly turns into a thundercloud.  
  
“I like you, you big lump of a Man,” Bilbo tells Beorn, and the shape shifter laughs heartily.  
  
Beorn is quite good at hugging, his arms are long enough to comfortably wrap around Bilbo with space to spare, but something doesn’t feel quite right. Bilbo politely taps Beorn’s shoulder in a request to be released, and once he’s back on the ground (he hadn’t even realised that he’d left it) he trots around the table again and stops next to Thorin.  
  
Thorin’s arms are slower to reach around Bilbo, but when they do the Hobbit sighs happily and tightens his. “You are a great hugger,” he informs the Dwarven King, and somewhere in the background Fíli chokes on his pipe and his brother has to whack him on the back a couple of times. “And I like you,” Bilbo adds after a moments contemplation. He doesn’t want Thorin to think that he is just using him for the hugs. “I think like you best,” he adds more quietly after another few seconds.  
  
The Dwarf doesn’t answer, but later that night, in the darkness of Beorn’s hall, Thorin stares up at the ceiling with a strange feeling in his chest.

-

In Lake Town they celebrate that they are almost in Erebor, and that they are _definitely_ out of Mirkwood. In other words, there is a lot to celebrate and eventually Bilbo ends up mostly beneath a table.  
  
He knows he’s been drinking too much, but the sheer relief at not having to constantly look over his shoulder, and not having to worry about his Dwarfs makes him feel reckless. What does it matter if he drinks a little too much? He is finally together with all his friends again, and the people of Lake Town seem very happy to welcome them, and there are absolutely no Elves or Spiders around.

When Bofur and Nori realise that they are missing the Hobbit previously seated between them they haul him back up again, with Bilbo ending up more or less in Nori’s lap.  
  
Across the room Thorin’s forehead acquires an extra wrinkle.

“Can you keep a secret?” Bilbo giggles into Nori’s ear, and the Dwarf wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him a little closer.  
  
“Master Baggins, I’m shocked you even feel you have to ask.” That of course isn’t really a yes, but Bilbo is not really in a position to notice.  
  
“I’m absolutely terrified. And it’s not even the incinci- incinse- burning up thing that frightens me the most.”  
  
“Is it the evisceration then?” Nori asks cautiously.  
  
“Nope!” Bilbo points at Nori, but he forgets that they are sitting so close together, so instead he ends up poking Nori on the nose. “No, that’s not it. It’s not the Dragon at _all_.”  
  
“Would you like to tell me then?” Nori asks, letting Bilbo slide down to sit between him and Bofur again. Over Bilbo’s head he catches Thorin’s gaze and jerks his head in a request for Thorin to join them. If Bilbo is having second thoughts, then it’s probably best that Thorin knows about it.  
  
“This,” Bilbo says and waves his hand about. “This is an _adventure_. A quest of highest importance. _And_ ,” Bilbo leans close enough that his lips almost touch Nori’s ear. “I’m having _fun_.”  
  
Nori blinks. “I’m afraid I don’t see the problem.”  
  
“I don’t think I was supposed to have fun,” Bilbo says with a snort. “And what if, what _if_ this adventure is it? We succeed, and you have Erebor back, and I have to go back to a life where nothing ever happens.” A frown crosses Bilbo’s face and he sits back “Gandalf said I’d not come back the same, but what if I don’t want to come back at all?”  
  
By this point Thorin has been standing behind them long enough to hear Bilbo’s dilemma, and when the King nods, Nori is happy enough to make room for him at the table.  
  
“Bilbo,” Thorin says and Bilbo looks startled when he notices that Nori has somehow turned into the very same Dwarf who might indeed have been on the list of reasons why going back to the Shire seemed such a miserable idea.  
  
“Where did you come from?”

“I promise you,” Thorin says seriously. “That you will always have a place amongst us, if you so wish. On this I do swear.”  
  
Later, when Thorin is almost entirely lost to gold-fever, Bilbo reminds him of this promise, and it’s possible that this is the thing that pulls Thorin back towards sanity again. Or perhaps it will be more due to the fact that the morning after the promise were made, when Thorin was sure that Bilbo was once more sound of mind, he let their burglar know  he would also forever more also have a place in Thorin’s heart, and Bilbo responded in kind.  
  
-  
  
About a year and a half later it’s a lovely spring day. It’s almost summer, and the land outside of Erebor that lay grey and empty the first spring after the mountain had been reclaimed is now green and lush once more.  
  
Smaug's curse is broken, and in exactly in one week there will be the first ever marriage between a Dwarven king and a Hobbit. Inside of Erebor the people are in high spirits as most have come to love the kind and brave Bilbo Baggins as much as their King has, and those who haven’t know well enough to not speak against one of the fourteen who helped reclaim their homeland and slay a Dragon.  
  
But at this moment Guard Captain Dwalin and Spymaster Nori are not really in a position to strike fear into those who would wish harm to their Burglar. They are both gathered in Bilbo’s rooms inside Erebor, together with the rest of the company, (excepting Thorin) and are fully busy celebrating the upcoming marriage.  
  
Dwalin is laughing at something Glóin has said, looking nothing like the stern Captain he usually presents himself as, and Nori; sneaky, shadowy Spymaster Nori, seems to have misplaced his trousers somewhere.  
  
“Is it really true that this,” Bilbo hiccups. “Oh, excuse me, that this is a Dwarven tradition?”  
  
Ori nods seriously, but ends up overbalancing and almost tipping over, so Bilbo isn’t quite sure if he should trust the young Dwarfs judgement or not.

He’s been told that getting drunk to celebrate the coming marriage is a tradition that they must adhere to. Two nights ago it was Thorin’s go at it, and the rest of the company has just now recovered enough to decide that it was time to celebrate Bilbo.

It feels a little strange to Bilbo to actually be inside the rooms that had been given to him. Usually he spends his evenings and nights in Thorin’s chambers, but it had seemed silly to banish Thorin from the royal chambers compared to just using these.  
  
Thinking about his soon to be husband starts a slow burning in Bilbo’s stomach and he squirms a little in the chair he’s sitting in.  
  
It has only been a couple of hours since he last saw Thorin, but he still finds that he’s already longing to see him again. He's longing to tangle his hands in dark locks and touch his mouth to the small smile that is so much more pleasant than a disapproving frown; even if Bilbo _does_ find himself nostalgic for certain frowns every now and again. Especially #8 as that made Thorin’s eyes look like a lake just before a storm. On those occasions Bilbo might end up saying something about how he misses Rivendell’s library, and that usually sorts things out.  
  
It’s with Thorin in mind that Bilbo skips on drinking from every other cup that is thrust into his hands. So when all the Dwarfs are snoring in his rooms, the Hobbit is able to sneak out and head towards Thorin’s, soon to be _their_ , chambers. He is still far from sober, but he is sober enough for what he has planned.

“I see you are not following tradition,” Thorin murmurs sleepily when Bilbo joins him beneath the covers. “Thankfully I think my own headache was enough to share between at least five others, so I am willing to overlook this.”  
  
Bilbo ignores Thorin’s outstretched arms and instead burrows his way downwards; dropping kisses on Thorin’s chest and belly as he goes.  
  
“Are you quite sure, my King?” he asks, muffled beneath the heavy covers, his breath hot against Thorin's skin, and the Dwarf is suddenly feeling a lot more awake. “I would not mind offering my services to make up for my appalling lack of decorum.”

Unseen beneath the covers Bilbo grins when he finds that certain parts of Thorin has not yet gone to sleep, but before he gets more than a couple of strokes and a lick in Thorin is hauling him back up again and claiming his mouth in a deep kiss.  
  
“You taste like ale,” Thorin informs him, and unseen in the dark Bilbo rolls his eyes.  
  
“How strange,” he says and tries to wriggle his way out of Thorin’s arms. He had a plan, and while very nice, this was not part of it.  
  
“I like it better when you taste of me.” The rasp in Thorin’s voice makes Bilbo squirm.  
  
“I was about to do something about that, but someone, who shall remain nameless, interrupted.”  
  
“Disrespectful Hobbit,” Thorin admonishes.  
  
“Confounded Dwarf,” Bilbo replies and finally manages to dive beneath the covers once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Gwah, I should have been doing other things instead of writing this. But obviously I didn't. Hope you like it!  
> If you did, you'll make me happy if you comment :)
> 
> Also, drink responsibly, kids. Bilbo is perhaps not a good role model, and let's not even talk about the Dwarfs.
> 
> LONG BONUS, BONUS TITLE:  
> Seven Dwarfs, I mean, SIX WAYS that Bilbo got drunk
> 
> Tired  
> Maudlin  
> Dizzy  
> Clingy  
> Giggly  
> And Horny
> 
> Now I'm shutting up, promise.


End file.
